Toothache
by ConsultingAngelWarlock
Summary: What do Sherlock, John, Lestrade, Mycroft, Anderson, and Molly have in common? Their hatred of the dentist of course! Each of them have their turn in the dentist chair
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is the first funny story I've written and I had a great time with it :) constructive criticism or a kind word are always lovely!**

_Disclaimer: I don't own any characters or lines you recognize from BBC or other various sources._

"Sherlock, is everything alright?"

John looked at his friend Sherlock Holmes who had an ice cube in his mouth.

"Simply an experiment, nothing to worry about."

"What type of experiment?"

"Not one you would understand," Sherlock muttered while trying not to drop the ice cube.

In actuality, the ice cube was not for an experiment. Sherlock's mouth ached, but he certainly didn't want his doctor friend to notice this.

"Well," John said getting up from his chair, "when you're finished you should really come eat something. You're getting thinner than usual."

Sherlock ignored this comment. Rising himself, he walked to the bathroom. Once safe inside, he spat the ice cube into the sink and opened his mouth. He couldn't quite place the pain, but it came from the right half of his mouth. Holding open his jaw, he tried to find something that could be causing it. The search failed miserably. After about fifteen minutes of this investigation, he gave up and wandered out to the kitchen.

John stood by the stove, a pot of something boring bubbling as he stirred it.

"What are you cooking? It smells funny."

"It's beef stew, of course it smells funny, everything I cook smells funny," John grumbled, stirring the pot vigorously.

"I don't want any."

"This isn't optional, you haven't eaten a proper meal in days."

Sherlock pondered this. If he ate, his sore mouth would be problematic. If he refused, John would get fussy. John couldn't come to grips with the fact that food slowed his body far too much. A fussy John worried Sherlock. He became rather annoying when he fussed.

"Sit down," John demanded.

The army doctor had a slightly dangerous glint in his eye. He really was worried about Sherlock's wellbeing. Sighing in defeat, the consulting detective flopped into a kitchen chair. The bowl of stew set in front of him caused a wave of discomfort through his body. Everything required chewing, and chewing hurt. Slowly, he lifted his spoon and took a bite. He chewed cautiously, trying not to show pain.

"Sherlock, something's wrong with you," John observed. "You never chew so slowly. Either your stomach hurts or you've got a toothache. Which is it?"

Sherlock finished chewing.

"You watch me chew?"

"You're stubborn, I make sure you actually swallow your food. You'll get ill if you don't eat. But you're avoiding my question."

"I don't feel the need to answer your question."

"Then I'll figure it out myself."

"You're hardly the figuring out type," the detective scoffed.

"I've solved it already. You've got a toothache."

Sherlock gaped momentarily at his friend.

"Quite obvious. I'm surprised it took you so long. Now will you let me eat this stew in peace?"

"No, no I won't. Toothaches can be quite serious if not taken care of."

Sherlock sighed.

"Alright, then fix it quickly."

"You know I'm not a dentist, I'm going to make a phone call, and you're going to brush your teeth," John responded pulling his mobile out of his pocket.

Sherlock sat stubbornly on his chair. He refused to go to a dentist. It simply would not happen. John dialed the number, glaring at the detective meaningfully.

"I won't. You can't make me."

"Don't be so sure."

John set an appointment with a good dentist. Hanging up the phone, he stared Sherlock in the eye. The stare down lasted for about ten minutes before Sherlock slowly rose from the table in defeat and went to brush his teeth.

Upon reaching the dental office, John herded Sherlock in the doors. Anyone in the office would have seen a tall, dapper, fully grown man pouting like a toddler as a much shorter, and incredibly determined man practically pushed him through the doors. Fortunately, the office was empty of all except a girl behind the front desk. When the she looked up, she nearly laughed at John, an acquaintance of hers, forcing the tall stranger into a chair.

"Hi John, how've you been?"

"I've been playing daddy to the world's only consulting detective, so not too great. Do you have paperwork for him to fill out?"

"Yep! Here you are," the receptionist responded with a chuckle.

John handed Sherlock the clipboard. Sherlock frowned as he filled out his information.

"John, why do they need to know all this? It's absurd."

"It's basic stuff, it helps keep patients in order."

After handing in the clipboard and deducing that the receptionist loved deviled eggs, had three cats, was single and thought John was quite charming, Sherlock slouched in the chair. He hated being bossed around, although John's bossing did save his life or his dignity on occasion. This was certainly **not** one of those times.

A blonde woman opened the door and called his name. John gave Sherlock a _if you know what's good for you you'll comply_ look and settled in to his chair. Sherlock rose, and walked after the woman. Obviously she liked her job and enjoyed horror films. This worried him a bit.

"Go ahead and sit down here and I'll go get Dr. Millar," the woman chirped.

Sherlock lowered himself into the chair, glancing about nervously. He disliked any type of medical office, especially dental ones. Although he would never admit it to John or anyone else, dentists caused him great amounts of anxiety. The dentist strode into the room.

"Hello, you must be Sherlock. I'm Dr. Millar."

"I thought as much," Sherlock said cooly.

"Go ahead and sit back. Could you tell me where the pain is?"

"Right side of my mouth, I think the upper portion. How long were you in Afganistan?"

The dentist looked a bit confused, but then smiled slightly.

"John mentioned you might say odd things. I left about a year ago. Now, I need you to open your mouth so I can find the problem area."

Sherlock obeyed without a fuss, the pain really was getting to his brain. As Dr. Millar poked around, he called out some kind of nonsense to the blonde assistant, who typed it into the computer.

"Well Sherlock, you've got a good sized cavity in your first molar on the upper right side. You should thank Dr. Watson for making you come in before you needed a root canal. Would you like to watch a movie while we work on it?"

"Actually, could you ask John for my phone? I've got some music on there."

"Sure thing. Would you be comfortable with some nitrous oxide to relax you, just at the beginning of the procedure?"

Sherlock nodded, his voice unwilling to work. The assistant handed him the phone, and he placed the earbuds snugly into place. Turning the music on low, he took a deep, shaky breath.

"You're handling this well," the dentist complemented. "John is a _**horrible**_ patient. We have to get someone to hold him down until we get the gas on him."

This surprised Sherlock. John, afraid of the dentist, it seemed impossible. He allowed his shaking hands a bit of freedom. He supposed that wouldn't bother Dr. Millar too much after dealing with John. The chair reclined, and Sherlock took another shaky breath before he opened his mouth. The gas began flowing into his nose and he relaxed, staring at the ceiling. After a while, the gas turned off and Sherlock noticed he couldn't feel his mouth. He tensed momentarily, but calmed down as the strains of a beautiful violin piece ran through his headphones.

When the dentist finished, he tapped Sherlock on the shoulder. Sherlock turned off his music and allowed his mouth to close.

"We're all finished. When the novacain fades off, you'll feel slightly sore for a while. I say milkshakes and tomato soup are good choices for the next 36 hours. Be careful not to chew on your cheek and take some aspirin every few hours."

Sherlock got out of the chair and shook hands with the dentist. Walking out to the waiting room, he pictured John, pinned in the chair, writhing about like a deranged snake. It made him chuckle a bit. He pushed open the dividing door and nodded to the receptionist.

"Well, that went smoothly," John commented.

"Indeed, now, I need a milkshake."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Part 2! I found this very difficult for some reason, I hope it's enjoyable! I'd really appreciate any constructive criticism or suggestions anybody might have :) If you guys are interested I can write more!**

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize from BBC or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle or anybody like that_

John grimaced as he chewed his toast and jam. His tooth ached, but he wanted to avoid another humiliating visit to Dr. Millar. Sherlock watched him, frowning slightly as he drank his tea.

"You've got a toothache. You don't want to get it checked because you're a horrible patient and dislike the dentist."

"How do you know I'm a bad patient?"

"Two reasons. One, doctors are bad patients. It's a rule of nature. Two, Dr. Millar mentioned something about it when I had my dental work done last month."

John turned red, muttering about how certain consulting detectives were just as bad as any doctor, but just shook his head. He pulled out his mobile, punching in the number angrily. If Sherlock weren't watching him with a demanding eye, he wouldn't have called, but he couldn't be a hypocrite.

Sherlock stood up and put John's plate in the fridge. Next he put a lid on the jam and put it into the fridge too. John disliked the dentist and obviously was in a bad mood. Sherlock noticed the lack of milk and decided he would get some after John got his tooth fixed. The doctor stalked to the bathroom, leaving Sherlock to clean up the kitchen. He thought it would be good to make things easier for John. After John came down, he looked around. Sherlock stood at the sink washing out a cup. The table was bare and everything seemed to be in place.

"Did I do well John?" Sherlock asked hopefully.

"Very well," John answered with a small smile.

"Well then, I suppose we should go."

"We?"

"Obviously. It would not be wise to send you out alone in this state. You look ill and the effects of the gases and other devices might cause that to worsen."

John shrugged and put his shoes on. The two men walked out of the flat, Sherlock glancing at John to be sure he could make it down the steps without falling.

At the office, the receptionist greeted both gentlemen with a smile. John's paperwork was up to date, and the blonde assistant soon came to retrieve the patient. Sherlock watched John struggle to stand and made a decision. Quickly, he rose from the chair and supported his friend. John seemed rather embarrassed, but Sherlock knew falling over would simply embarrass him more. Lowering himself into the chair, John turned even paler. Dr. Millar entered the room.

"Hello John, what seems to be the matter?"

"My mouth hurts right here."

John pointed to a section of his mouth. Sherlock watched in shock as strong Dr. Watson internally dissolved into panic. Lowering the chair, Dr. Millar requested John open his mouth. John glared wide eyed at the dentist, something seeming to snap in his mind. Sherlock noticed the subtle change and pinned one of his friend's shaky arms to his chair gently but firmly.

"Listen John, do what he says," Sherlock admonished softly in an unusually calm tone.

John opened his mouth nervously and Dr. Millar checked for the cause of the pain.

"Well, you seem to have a crack in your tooth here on the upper left. Simple fix, nothing to worry about. Movie?"

John just shook his head worriedly.

"John, did you want the music on your mobile?" Sherlock inquired, still with that odd, comforting tone of voice.

John nodded, hoping nobody could see his shallow breaths. Before his panic could become violent, his flat mate awkwardly shifted so he could reach across and pin the other arm. The unusual feeling of the detective's long fingers touching him strangely comforted the terrified doctor and he sat completely still until the gas mask was in place and he relaxed. Sherlock slowly rose and left the room when he could tell John would be alright.

When the procedure ended, John rose from the chair and wobbled out to the waiting room where his curly haired companion lounged on a chair nearly sleeping.

"Well, I believe that your appointment went rather well compared to last time," Sherlock deduced.

"That's the truth, now I want a milkshake."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Greg is such a lovely character although I found it difficult to write his story. thanks to the lovely folks reviewing thus far, I love feedback! Thanks so much to ainraatheexplorer for helping me brainstorm :)**

_Disclaimer: I really wish I owned the show's characters or amazing dialogue, but BBC has the rights, so anything you recognize belongs to them._

Greg Lestrade should win an award for being the most patient DI in the world. At least he thought so. Brightly shining sun shone all around and Sherlock Holmes stalked around a crime scene, insulting everyone and everything in sight. Doctor Watson couldn't seem to hush the consulting detective, which made things much worse on Greg's throbbing head. The headache started early that morning and intensified as the day went on. Finally Sherlock rattled off a long series of brilliant deductions and everyone sighed with relief. As Sherlock bustled off, Lestrade noticed John watching him and trying to make a decision.

"So, what're you feeling with that headache? If you don't mind me asking that is," the doctor blurted after a bit.

"I don't mind at all. I could use some medical advice. My whole face hurts, it's gotten worse as the day goes on especially when I eat or drink."

"My thought would be a tooth causing the headache. I suggest calling your dentist and setting up a rush appointment."

"I haven't got a dentist at the moment, mine moved out of London."

John handed the detective inspector a card with Doctor Millar's information and wished him luck before calling for Sherlock.

Lestrade hated dentists. He wasn't afraid by any stretch, he just always got sick afterward. Nevertheless, he phoned the dental office and arrived there less than an hour later. The perky front desk smiled when he mentioned John referring him there and launched into a story about how sweet and lovely John was. Filling out mounds of ridiculous paperwork, Greg huffed at his predicament. He should be working on the case, not sitting around.

The blonde assistant led Greg to the office and Doctor Millar strolled into the room.

"Hello, you must be Greg," the jovial man remarked.

"That's me. Doctor Watson said you worked with Sherlock Holmes, I respect you greatly for that."

"Sherlock, quite a nervous man he was, shaking up a storm. In any case that's beside the point, what can I do for you today?"

Lestrade chuckled at the thought of a nervous Sherlock, then winced at the pain it caused his head.

"I've got a beast of a headache, but the pain's starting from somewhere on the left side of my mouth."

The dentist reclined the chair and Greg opened his mouth. Soon a nastily injured tooth was found to be the culprit and a root canal was the prescribed solution. Greg chose the newest _Star Trek _movie to watch, noticing that the villain reminded him of a a stronger, more homicidal version of Sherlock.

The procedure proceeded quickly and soon after the movie ended the dentist raised the chair.

"I'd suggest a good dose of painkiller when you feel the novacain wear off. You're free to go."

The dentist and the DI shook hands before Greg strolled out of the office trying to ignore his roiling stomach. He knew he couldn't make it home before giving in to his illness, but 221b Baker Street was nearby. He rushed in without knocking, causing John to leap up from his chair, Sherlock was thankfully nowhere to be seen. Ignoring the doctor's surprised inquiries, Lestrade dashed to the bathroom and vomited violently. John followed and knelt on the tile floor next to him, speaking soothingly and rubbing his back. After Greg finally recovered, he accepted painkillers from John and the two went out to get milkshakes.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Mycroft was soooo hard to write! I went for a rather, well, unusual approach on his character. I'm not too sure I'm happy with it, but he took control of the story without much input from me :-/**

_Disclaimer: As much as I enjoy the characters, they are not mine. BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle get the credit there._

Mycroft Holmes knew John Watson would be a help to Sherlock, but he never guessed that the doctor would insist on helping him too when he got the chance.

It was a rainy day and Mycroft kidnapped John to get information about his brother. He hadn't mentioned his achy jaw to the doctor and was surprised when John went into "doctor mode".

"You've got a toothache haven't you?"

"How did yo-?"

"I'm a doctor, and I notice when my flatmate's brother talks strangely to avoid inflicting pressure on his upper teeth. I don't suppose you'll call a dentist yourself, so I'll do that."

John's tone of voice surprised the elder Holmes. Nobody bossed Mycroft around. Yet this short, innocent looking veteran and physician was glaring at him ferociously. Instead of calling some security on the man, he simply huffed and allowed John to dial Doctor Millar's number.

Dentist offices horrified Mycroft. They smelled of minty toothpaste and fear. One had no dignity whatsoever while in a dentist's chair. Mycroft's deepest fear equated to losing his dignity, so his anxiety increased quickly as he filled out reams of paper work and waited. John came to the office with him, much to his surprise.

After a short wait the perky blonde assistant summoned Mycroft to the office. Leaning heavily on his umbrella, he walked like a sheep to the slaughter. His complexion even matched the white of wool. Slowly, the government official entered the tortuous little room and sat in the chair.

"Ah, another Holmes," the dentist noted as he entered. "I see the resemblance. I'm Doctor Millar, what can I do for you?"

Mycroft wondered about the resemblance bit, but approved of the attempt at friendliness.

"I seem to be experiencing intense discomfort on the upper right portion of my mouth."

"Well, if you don't mind me taking a look, I can get rid of the pain for you."

Mycroft did mind, but the discomfort restrained him from refusing. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth.

"Just three simple cavities sir, it'll be around three and a half hours. Would you like to watch a movie while we work?"

Mycroft nearly scoffed aloud before noticing a movie based on J.R.R. Tolkien's book _The Hobbit_, his favorite childhood story. Watching Bilbo, he couldn't help but notice several similarities between the irked hobbit and the doctor sitting in the waiting area.

The movie ended and he sat in silence as they finally finished the filling. Unfortunately for Mycroft, the laughing gas got to his head and he swaggered out of the office and into the waiting room while singing a song from the movie loudly.

"Chip the glasses and crack the plates! Oh hullo John, are you a hobbit? I believe I ought to go home now."

John stifled a chuckle as he lead the British government to his car. To his credit, he never told a soul about Mycroft's reaction to the nitrous oxide. He simply allowed the man to bellow and laugh while clinging to the soldier's arm. After twenty minutes of this, Mycroft shook off the last of his delirium, thanked John profusely and strolled to his ride.

Anthea lounged in the car beside her recovered employer and on request from Mycroft ordered a strawberry milkshake to be waiting when he arrived home.

**A/N: (sorry about 2 in one "chapter"). I realize that laughing gas doesn't exactly effect people like I wrote above, but Mycroft isn't your average gentleman, so I deemed it acceptable.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I'm sorry this took so long! I spent the week on vacation in San Francisco and Anderson was being a brat :-/ Enjoy!**

_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters from BBC as much as I wish I did._

It was a warm summer day. The sun beamed down upon the world and the birds sang in their nests. Below a tree at a crime scene, Sherlock Holmes and Anderson yelled at each other. The duo's insults grew nastier and nastier until Anderson went too far.

"You're so dumb you bring that worthless cripple onto crime scenes and expect me to listen to him."

The last thing Anderson saw was Sherlock's enraged expression as he swung a fist at his face. Aderson crumpled to the ground and John snapped into action. Although he strongly disliked Anderson, he couldn't let the man lay there bleeding.

"Sherlock, that wasn't necessary," the doctor admonished as he checked the idiotic officer's vital signs.

"But John, didn't you hear what he said about you?"

"Yes, I heard," John responded with a sigh. "You knocked a couple teeth out of him, better get him to a dentist.

About 9 minutes later, Anderson sprawled across a chair in the waiting room of Doctor Millar's office. Waking with a start he wriggled off the chair and fell to the ground with a thud. His cheeks turned a stunning shade of pink as the pretty clerk helped him up. A blonde woman pulled open a door and marched him to a torture chamber. Forcefully, his captor pushed him into a terrible chair and spoke.

"Hello Mr... umm, what is your name anyway?"

"Anderson" he responded, feeling the sore bloody patches in his mouth.

"Well sir, you've had a rather nasty accident, we'll just fix you up and you'll be perfectly alright. Can I interest you in a movie?"

Anderson warily chose _Jurassic Park _and settled back into his seat. Another person entered the room and introduced himself as Doctor Millar. Before Anderson could respond, a mass of tubes descended over his nose. He squirmed and tried not to breathe. The long, steely needle coming toward his open mouth didn't help the situation. Finally, he gave into the gas floating around his nostrils and relaxed. The dinosaurs on the screen roared as the dental tools whined and Anderson fell fast asleep again.

Three or four hours later, he started back to reality by a shaking on his shoulder. The blonde woman released him from the chamber and allowed him to exit to the front room. There he paid for his procedure and turned to see none other than John Watson standing by the doorway.

"Oh, erm, Dr. Watson... I'm sorry about what I said earlier. I didn't actually mean it, things are much better now that you've started coming on the crime scenes. Sherlock's less of a bully than he used to be."

John seemed slightly flattered by this admission.

"It's alright Anderson, like I told Sherlock earlier, I'm used to that type of comments. Now, I'll call a cab and make sure you get home alright."

The forensic officer learned a lesson in caring for your enemies that day as he slumped into a cab with the doctor. After a while they arrived at Anderson's small flat. John only stayed long enough to make a milkshake before leaving Anderson alone with his thoughts.


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, BBC does :-/ _

Molly Hooper slumped in a chair at St. Bart's morgue. Her mouth had been driving her insane lately. As a teenager her gums grew over her back molars, but she never bothered to fix it. Chewing often caused her encroaching gums to inflame. Terribly afraid of the dentist, the poor pathologist suffered through the pain almost daily. This particular day changed that forever.

Sherlock Holmes flew through the doors with John at his heels.

"Molly! I need an el-"

"Sherlock, Molly obviously isn't feeling well, your elbow experiment will have to wait," John interrupted.

Sherlock huffed as John went to stand by Molly.

"I'm sorry about him, is everything alright?"

The doctor's gentle tone coaxed Molly to tell him about what was really going on. Gazing at her sternly yet kindly, John insisted she make an appointment with his dentist for that evening and promised to go with her. She complied, hands shaking and voice quavering slightly. After this, she rose and gave Sherlock the elbow he'd been longing for the whole time and bid the two men goodbye.

When Molly got off work, John stood outside waiting for her. They walked down to the office together in silence until they reached the door.

"John, I'm scared," Molly admitted, unsure why she was confiding in the doctor in the first place.

"It's alright to be scared, even I get scared of this place."

They entered and Molly filled out the endless piles of paper. The kind assistant soon led a reluctant Molly to the room. Doctor Millar entered soon after and examined the swollen gums.

"Well Miss Hooper, this is a simple fix, we'll just use a little laser to get rid of the excess gum tissue. It'll only take about 45 minutes."

Molly nodded and allowed them to inject the Novacain. While there wasn't any pain, one or two tears escaped over the course of the procedure caused by the aroma of burning flesh. The dentist worked quickly and soon Molly felt the tools leave her mouth.

"Alright, your gums may be sore for a couple days, but after that you'll be pain free," Doctor Millar explained kindly.

Molly exited the office after paying for the procedure. John led her out of the office and delivered her safely to her flat with a promise to check up on her. Every day for the next week he brought her milkshakes at the morgue, which made dealing with dead bodies and a sore mouth much easier.

**A/N: That one was painful to write :p I based Molly's problem off my own experience. Totally had some flashback moments :p**

**This may be the last installment of ****_Toothache _****for a while... Inspiration isn't coming :p I'm planning a couple more stories coming soon if you all decide to watch for them :) **


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